


Cups and Sorcerers

by icantloseyoutoo



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Bad Flirting, Bellarke, Bellarke Bingo, F/M, coffee shop AU, love potion, witch!Clarke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-01-13 22:44:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21236945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icantloseyoutoo/pseuds/icantloseyoutoo
Summary: Ever wondered what’s really in the syrup bottles in a coffee shop? Clarke’s customers didn’t - but maybe this time they should have. After a mix-up with the bottles one day, Clarke finds herself in a sticky situation, and one mysterious customer seems to know more than he lets on.A bellarke bingo fic with a Halloween twist 🎃





	1. Brewed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eyessharpweaponshot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyessharpweaponshot/gifts).

Autumn was here, and Clarke could feel it in her bones. For most people that set off the soft tinkle of the bell on her door, all autumn meant was pumpkin spice everything. Sure, Clarke didn’t mind that; it was good for business. But autumn was so much more than that to her. Maybe it was her October birthday that made her feel so tethered to the season, but whatever the cause, she relished the feeling it gave her. Summer always seemed so frantic, winter so frigid, and without even touching on allergies, spring just felt like a mini summer. Every year, she would wait for the day she saw the first yellow leaf, watching Arkadia erupt into colour. Her morning walk to work took her through the park, so she could see first-hand the effect the changing weather had on the plants and animals. Every inch of the park came alive, and she swore she could feel the spirits dancing in the air, watching squirrels scurry up tree trunks, the leaves like burning embers flickering in the breeze… it was the most magical time of the year.

Clarke was cashing in on the seasonal craze, making sure the windows had dainty little pumpkins on display to draw people in. The chalkboard outside had a handwritten message as always – the company name, Crafted, written in cursive above the slogan: “_for perfectly crafted coffee every time”_. She’d given it a sidelong smirk on her way in today, remembering how many times she’d had to erase it and rewrite it to get the curls perfect and to stop the damn chalk from smudging under her hand. It seemed to work, the days had been busy recently with the new wave of college students coming in for a caffeine fix, and their professors too. She had always enjoyed people-watching during her slower times, and it was always fun seeing how accurate the stories she made up for her customers were when they became regulars. Turned out the girl with the raven-coloured hair was actually called Raven, always ordering a double shot of espresso to go. Never seeming to stop moving, she assumed the girl was a busy student, maybe an athlete judging by her frame, but when she turned up covered in grease one day Clarke learned she was a mechanic. She’d been way off on that one. She likes to think that even if she didn’t know the college’s Dean, Thelonious Jaha, she’d be able to tell what he did for a living. His air of authority, thick cardigans, and the way he spoke – measured and polite, but with the suggestion of an ability to strike fear – all pointed towards a high-ranking post in education.

There was one regular she couldn’t figure out, though. He came and went like the wind, with no discernible pattern. Here for days on end, then it could be weeks before she saw his face again. Hell, she could barely even predict his order, the way he was working through her menu. Maybe she wouldn’t search for his face so often if he wasn’t as attractive as he was, but Clarke had always been the curious type anyway. He was wearing his glasses when he came in today, so Clarke knew he’d be here a while. He always wore his glasses on the days when he would set up camp with his laptop on one of her comfier chairs, usually with a pastry of some kind and as many refills of coffee as he needed to get through the furious keyboard smashing his day had in store. Familiar enough with each other by now, he gave her a friendly smile as she greeted him, her Sharpie hovering over a coffee cup. “Who are you this time?”

“Odysseus.” He rummaged for his wallet. “Your biggest latte please, with as much caramel as you’re legally allowed to give me.”

She chuckled at his request, scribbling the name on the cup. “You’re gonna have to tell me your name eventually, you know. You’ll run out of historical figures soon enough.” She punched in his order on the screen.

“Oh, and a croissant if you have any left?” He grabbed a couple of crisp notes before tucking his wallet away again, shooting her a smirk. Always paid cash, never giving her a glimpse of his card. “If I run out of names, I guess I’ll have to find another coffee shop.”

Clarke gasped in mock horror. “You wouldn’t!”

“You’re right, I wouldn’t. No one else makes coffee like you do.”

Grinning, she took his cash and he popped the change in the tip jar like usual. “Your name has to be easier to spell than this, if nothing else.”

He scrunched his nose, sending the freckles scattering across his features. “You’d be surprised, I’ve had some shockers.”

“Take a seat, I’ll bring your order to you in a few – you know the drill.” A line was starting behind him, so she had to cut their usual banter short while she served the three customers after him.

The first two had been lovely – college aged, probably out on a first date if their nervous glances were anything to go by, and the way the girl hesitantly reached for her purse before the boy proudly offered to pay for them both. It was quite sweet, and she made sure their coffees were crafted with a little extra care. The last guy, though, was wearing this obnoxious Bluetooth earpiece the whole time, talking loudly about some _huge merger_ that was _really going to boost their earnings this quarter_. He snapped his fingers at her as he ordered his “black coffee to go, _pronto_,”. Rather than hand her the money, he haphazardly threw the change at her hand, sending it bouncing off and scattering all over the floor. The guy stared daggers at her like it was her fault he paid like a dick, and waited for her to pick up all the coins by his feet instead of lifting a finger to help her. Begrudgingly, she got his order up fast just so he’d leave, and she watched as he took the cup outside. Keeping him in her sights, she eyed him carefully as he prepared to take a sip. A skilled observer would notice the subtle flick of her finger or the amber flash over her usually blue eyes as she caused his full, steaming hot cup to jolt in his hands, tipping it so that it poured all over his face and dribbled down his suit. He jumped back in surprise before throwing the cup to the ground in frustration, dabbing himself with a napkin before giving up and hailing a cab. It was a touch childish, but it gave her a little cruel satisfaction without inflicting any lasting damage.

Her own needs satisfied, she returned to her mystery customer’s order. He was already typing away on his laptop, probably grading papers. He was a history teacher of some kind, that much was obvious. His name was still a mystery, and so was his schedule. But for right now, all that mattered was getting him some coffee; he looked like he needed it. His espresso-black hair was more ruffled than usual, so he clearly hadn’t had time to tame it today, and he was damn near pulling it out as he stared into the laptop screen. Clarke wondered what was making him so frustrated as she pumped the caramel into his latte, picking up a croissant before she headed over to him.

As she placed his order down on the table by his laptop, he spoke, eyes still glued to the screen, a reflection of an essay shining brightly in his glasses. “One of my students just tried to tell me that the Trojan horse was a real animal… a living, breathing horse.”

Clarke snorted. Poor guy, he sounded so disappointed. “How old are these kids, anyway?”

“College kids.” A corner of his lips tugged upwards almost reluctantly as he broke into a grin, finally meeting her eyes. Each seeing that the other was struggling to hold back a chuckle made them both break, and they laughed until their cheeks hurt.

Clarke found herself wishing she knew more about him, whenever they talked the banter came easily, but he always seemed to sit in some far corner of the shop where she could barely see him. All she’d learned from this encounter was that he was a college professor – and a young one at that. “This isn’t right,” she finally said, putting a hand on her hip as she eyed his table. “You’re supposed to sit at the counter, make me laugh, tell me stories.”

His gaze fell to the barstool style seats next to the bakery display at the counter, each of them occupied. “Looks pretty full. We could kick someone out?” He played along.

“I’d do that! Which one?”

Both sets of eyes raked over the customers on the barstools, taking each of them in. Closest to them, a girl with olive skin and dark brown hair hidden under a bandana, her left hand wrapped up in some kind of bandage. Her most striking feature, however, was the tattoo taking up half her face. Clarke considered her as the girl absently stirred her coffee, nose deep in a novel. The professor must have clocked her the same time Clarke did, because he spoke. “Well you’ve got to keep her. That girl’s got some stories I’d pay to hear.”

“Oh yeah, I’d say so. Might even have to ditch you to talk to her.” That earned a scoff of mock offence. “She’s reading Lord of the Flies, interesting choice.”

“Tough girl like that reading an allegory in a coffee shop? Can’t kick her out. What about him?” he nodded to the man next to her – a little older than either of them, rugged and built. A thick leather and fur jacket rested over the back of his seat. Clarke knew exactly who that was.

“Him? Oh, he’s a total jock. Rich kid, good at sports, kind heart underneath the tough exterior.” A side eye to the professor as she changed her tone from matter of fact to a touch more sarcastic. “Bet he’s got a weird hobby like sword fighting. Probably has a whole collection of weapons back home.”

He started chuckling at Clarke’s suggestion, unaware of how well she knew the man in the chair. Roan was one of Clarke’s friends – his mother was a witch, and his father was human. She had gotten herself into trouble with dark magic, resulting in his father’s death. She was stripped of her powers before being banished from Arkadia, and Clarke helped him find his feet after he rejected his own magic, instead focusing on training in weaponry and hand to hand combat. Just because he didn’t want anything to do with magic didn’t mean he wanted to walk around the world unprotected, and Clarke could hardly blame him. As if sensing he was being talked about, Roan turned his head ever so slightly their way and threw Clarke a subtle wink as he nursed his drink.

“And what do your gifts tell you about the guy next to him?” Mercifully, the historian changed the subject. Clarke studied the man next to Roan – about her age, dark hair, attractive. He was tapping his foot as he played with his already empty coffee cup.

She squinted at him as he checked his watch and glanced at the door. “He’s been stood up.”

“How do you figure?”

“He got here forty-five minutes ago, waited twenty before ordering and he’s checked the time every few seconds; he’s losing his patience. Fidgety. If my calculations are correct, he’ll get frustrated and leave in 5… 4…” The man stood and threw on his wool coat, sending a text with a scowl on his face as he left the café. Clarke pursed her lips and tilted her head as she contemplated her accuracy. Not bad. The professor was looking up at her in a mix of confusion and wonder, and Clarke answered his question before it formed on his lips. “I’ve seen this kind of thing before. You get good at people watching.”

She cast him a satisfied smirk as she walked away, clearing up the recently departed man’s coffee cup and retreating behind the counter once more. Setting her mind to busy work, she tuned everything else out as she washed mugs, replenished the baked goods, wiped down tables and took more orders. A small, rosy blush drew itself out from her cheeks when she noticed a certain dark, curly-haired patron had moved all of his belongings to the newly vacated seat at the barstool, quietly continuing his work as she monitored the shop. It was winding down now, getting near 4pm, and Clarke hung back in a little nook a few feet behind the counter, out of sight, where she worked on what she called her _extracurricular activities_. Some days it was new recipes for the bakery. Sometimes she’d test out new flavoured syrups for the drinks. But this time of year especially, she was more likely to crack open the old, leather-bound book handed down to her from her mother. Her powers were in the midst of their annual crescendo, with All Hallows’ Eve approaching fast, and she found she got restless if she didn’t get to stretch her metaphorical muscles. The fun she had earlier with the rude customer had been little more than a parlour trick, barely as much effort as wiggling her ears, and she needed something bigger. Lately she’d been working on a love potion, inspired by all the dates she would see come through her doors. Not that she would ever use one, of course; it always seemed totally barbaric to her to trick someone into falling in love with you. It wasn’t real love anyway, just an infatuation that would wear off with time. Delicately, she flipped to the bookmarked page and found where she left off last time.

“_Step 7 – Leave the mixture to infuse until the taste you cannot refuse”_.

A fancy way of saying ‘let it rest until it tastes nice’. She always had to hold back an eye roll at the way the recipes were written out, though she supposed her ancestors were fond of their rhymes. Rooting through the bottles of flavoured syrups, she found the one she kept her potions hidden in and sampled a quick taste. A pleasant salty sweetness spread over her tongue, and a satisfied smile crossed her face before her brow furrowed. It tasted familiar, it tasted like… _oh fuck._

She fumbled with the bottle, checking the label and cursing herself in her head. Scrambling to the counter, she slowed her pace once she was in view of the customers, and as surreptitiously as she could, she studied the label on the syrup bottle by the coffee machines. _Oh no. Oh god. This could not be happening._ How could she be so careless? She should have known it was a stupid idea to keep potions hidden in syrup bottles – sooner or later something would get mixed up. Early this morning when she was setting up shop, she must have gotten distracted by something and pulled the wrong syrup bottle out. Slowly but deliberately, she cast her gaze across all of the customers who had ordered a coffee with caramel syrup, taking in their faces. Each and every one of them had just ingested her love potion by mistake.

Clarke was so screwed.


	2. Spell It Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween my loves!
> 
> *towards the end of this chapter, there's some content that might be triggering. it's very brief and nothing graphic, but i want you all so stay happy and healthy*

Clarke closed up shop in a hurry that day, much to the confusion and annoyance of her customers, and let herself freak out for a minute before packing up her potion book and sprinting home to her own personal library. Her mother’s words ran through her mind as she hurried through her cottage home: _“What is done can always be undone.”_ Meaning – there had to be some kind of way to stop this. The potion wasn’t all the way complete before it found its way into her customers’ coffee, which meant one of two things. Option one: the potion’s essentially a dud and won’t affect anyone, and Clarke can get back to life as normal. Option two: the potion is volatile and unpredictable, still forming and changing in her customers’ bodies and causing them to react to it totally differently, and Clarke risks being banned from practicing magic forever. Clarke preferred option one.

Popular culture would have humans believe witches operated in covens, and while that was true of her ancestors (who were so easily accused of practicing dark magic and burned at the stake for it), as people became more sceptical of the supernatural, the need for an inner circle of trust wasn’t as strong, and witchcraft became something you taught your children yourselves, much like a family recipe. While many witches were friends with each other, it was more like a normal human friendship except instead of a girls’ night in drinking wine you were more likely to end up chugging potions and casting funny spells at each other. Clarke fondly recalled one night with her ex Lexa where they practiced levitation spells, which turned into a supernatural pillow fight. There was still regulation, of course. A council of high-ranking witches called the Grand Coven ruled over all activities, and punished witches for crimes against nature, against each other, and against humans. One of their most important rules was to not do anything that could risk witches being discovered, like, say, accidentally dosing an entire coffee shop with love potion. In any other situation where Clarke was having magic trouble, she’d go to her mother. But of course Abby Griffin was the leader of Arkadia’s Grand Coven, and she was too devoted to her job to protect Clarke from the repercussions. Clarke was on her own this time.

In all the hours she spent with her head in the books, the only vaguely similar thing she could find was around a hundred years ago, when a witch called Alie drugged almost an entire village with a potion of her own invention: The Elixir of Light. It made them drones immune to pain on a mission to convert everyone they met. Who knows what she wanted with those poor people, but the Grand Coven caught on to her actions before irreversible damage was done. They had their work cut out for them curing the humans and erasing their memories, and of course Alie was stripped of her powers. Hardly the same circumstances that Clarke found herself in, but she’d like to avoid that outcome if at all possible. Unfortunately, by the time she woke up drooling on an open textbook the next morning, she was no closer to an answer. The best bet she had was to head to the coffee shop and hope for option number one – and at least if it turned out people had been affected after all, she could confine the mess to an environment she could control.

On her way to work, she recited the list of the customers who might have come into contact with the potion: the couple on their first date, the girl with the face tattoo, the endlessly frustrating but intriguing history professor who refused to give her his name, the guy that got stood up, and… oh, god. Roan. Wincing as the thought crossed her mind, she shook it off as she unlocked the shop and set off the soft tinkle of the bells over the door. It was time to face the music.

Her hopes of a quiet day were dashed almost immediately when one of yesterday’s customers came in as soon as she flipped over the ‘OPEN’ sign on the front door. She recognised him as one of the two college-aged kids on their first date, and she eyed him warily as he took a seat at the counter. He was tracking her movements as she wiped down tables, brought baked goods to the display and fixed her apron whenever it slipped too loose. He was fidgeting in his seat, seeming nervous, as if he was working himself up to something. Eventually, the silence between them became too much for Clarke as she engaged him. “Can I get you something?”

“Your number?”

Clarke blinked in surprise, mouth hanging open as she tried to form a response.

An embarrassed look crept onto her customer’s face, his cheeks tinting pink. “Sorry, I’ve just been thinking about you a latte.”

Before Clarke could say anything, the bell on the door chimed again as someone else walked in and stared at the boy in surprise – it was the girl he was on a date with yesterday. “Monty?” She called out to him.

“Harper?” He replied.

Her surprise turned to frustration. “I saw her first!” The girl turned to Clarke and hurried to the counter. “I feel something brewing between us. You’d better step away from the machine because it’s about to get steamy in here.”

Clarke didn’t know who to focus on as the two of them fired bad coffee pick-up lines at her; instead she focused on processing the situation. Of two things, she was certain. One: the love potion was definitely affecting them. And two: it seemed pretty benign. Once the shock wore off, she interrupted their stream of flirtation with a suggestion. “You’re both very pretty. Really. But I don’t make a habit of dating my customers. In fact, I think you two would like each other better than you’d like me – why don’t you take that couch over at the back and chat over a coffee? It’s on the house.” She sealed the deal with a flick of her finger and an amber flash over her eyes, reciting a gentle persuasion spell under her breath. She wasn’t sure if it was enough to break the love potion completely, but it certainly seemed to take the edge off as the two of them made their way to the area Clarke had gestured to, though somewhat warily.

Their orders from yesterday were whipped up in near record speed – without love potion this time – and Clarke placed them in front of the couple as they sized each other up, as if trying to determine if the other was friend or foe. Eventually it seemed they settled on ‘friend’, since they began chatting just as eagerly as they had been on their date. With a sigh of relief, Clarke went back to work, serving new customers as they came and went. She caught a glimpse of Monty and Harper kissing before she averted her eyes, giving them privacy. Seemed like the love potion wore off for them. When they left and she wiped down their table, she noticed they left a sheepish note of apology on a napkin, and a thank you in the form of a very generous tip. Clarke put the notes in her tip jar with a relieved smile, when something outside caught her attention.

Her mystery customer was standing on the street by her café, in a heated argument with a girl a few years younger than he was. She couldn’t make out much through the glass, only bits and pieces of phrases.

“_What … …... you doing here?” _Clarke thought he said.

She couldn’t tell what the girl had replied, but he interrupted her with an unintelligible shout of annoyance.

“… _just trying to help!_” the girl’s voice projected through the window.

“….. _any idea …. you’ve done?!”_

The girl’s sleek black ponytail whipped through the air as she spun her head left and right, as if checking for observers. Clarke quickly put her head down and got back to wiping tables, but she subtly stole glances at the pair. The girl was pleading with him, pulling him closer and keeping her voice low. They seemed a little less heated but still urgent if the strained look on his face was anything to go by. Clarke tried to ignore the niggle in her stomach, unsure why the sight of them was making her insides turn like her guts had been twisted around.

A minute or so later, the bell chimed as he entered and fell into a couch in a huff. She let him sit there for a while to cool off; it was unusual for him not to come straight to the counter to order or banter with her, and she didn’t want to touch a nerve. Instead, she put a blueberry muffin on a plate and offered it to him. “You seemed like you needed it.” She clarified when he gave her a confused look. “Your, uh… your friend not joining you?”

“You saw that?” He seemed sheepish.

Clarke scrunched her nose. “Yeah, sorry, I kinda did. I totally get it though, trouble in paradise – happens to all of us.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Oh, I’m not – that’s my sister. Octavia.”

“Oh,” the feeling in Clarke’s stomach settled, and an easy smirk fell across her face. “That a fake name too? Or is that real?”

His laugh came out like air being let out from a balloon under pressure. “That one’s real.”

“Does that make you Augustus?”

“Hey, look at you, you know your stuff.” He gave her an appreciative grin. “No, but if you need a name for my coffee I think that’s as good as any.”

“Well I’ve got to stay on top of my Greek and Roman history – you see, there’s this guy that won’t tell me his name, so I’ve got to learn how to spell all these ridiculous names instead. I mean, Hephaestus? Who even was that?” She teased, remembering one of the more complex names he gave her in the past. “What can I get you?”

“Americano.” He nodded a smile at her. Grabbing her hand as she walked away, he lowered his voice. “Thanks. For everything.”

“No problem.” She squeezed his hand in reassurance – she was happy to have helped cheer him up, and to be honest it distracted her from the whole potion fiasco. He seemed his usual self despite the extra pumps of the stuff she’d mistakenly put in his cup yesterday, and she wondered if maybe it had already worn off for everyone involved. It was a nice thought, and it lasted until she had placed the Americano on the professor’s table and another familiar face entered the shop.

Roan approached her barely five feet from the professor’s table, gently grabbing her arm to stop her walking away. “I can’t stop thinking about sleeping with you.”

Clarke’s mouth dropped to the floor, and she heard the professor choke on his coffee behind her. “What?” He hadn’t sounded impassioned or emotive, but matter of fact, impatient, accusatory. Even if his tone hadn’t been so off, this was definitely uncharted territory for their friendship. “Roan, what are you talking about?”

“I can’t stop thinking about sleeping with you ever since yesterday, and I want to know why.” He lightly pulled at her, moving her away from prying ears. “It feels wrong, it feels… _witchy_.” He whispered the last word.

Clarke blinked in surprise. “Wait, so you don’t actually _want_ to…”

“What? No!” He seemed confused she’d even suggest it, but his eyes widened quickly. “Not that you aren’t – you know – but, you’re my… I mean, we’re…”

She couldn’t help but chuckle at his fumbled words; he was usually so smooth with women. “Friends, I know. It’s fine, it’s just…” She lowered her voice. “There was an accident with a love potion, and I might have put it in some customers’ drinks yesterday by mistake. Yours included. Honestly, I’m just glad it’s not worse than some bad flirting.”

“Jesus, Clarke, what were you thinking?”

“I didn’t mean to! It was an accident!”

He kept his voice quiet. “This could be dangerous! You’re lucky I’m only half human, that’s probably why I’ve been able to fight it.”

“Yeah, I thought that might be it.” She sighed, staring at her feet. “Look, it’s been fine so far – like I said, the worst I’ve had are some bad pickup lines.”

“Seems like whatever he said to you worked just fine.” When Clarke looked up, she found Roan’s eyes on the professor, who was studying Roan from across the room.

“Actually, he’s been his usual self. Maybe the batch was weak, I didn’t finish the last few steps. Hey, if you don’t mind, could you keep this between us? You know what they’ll do to me if they find out.” Clarke knew he’d understand who she was talking about.

Roan let out a sigh. “Okay, just be careful. It’s All Hallows’ Eve tonight, and you know that magnifies everything. If this gets out of hand, I’m working tonight, right across the street. Call and I’ll come running.”

She knew that wasn’t an empty promise; Roan would go to war for her if she asked. One night at his bar she even had to stop him from fighting a guy that didn’t seem to know when to give up – he’d always been protective of her ever since the situation with his parents. “Yeah, of course. I’ll call you if I need to.” Clarke smiled, and waited for Roan to make a move to leave. Instead, he seemed transfixed on her figure, his eyes trailing down her in a daze. She snapped her fingers in his face. “Hey, Romeo, focus. I’ve got this. Don’t you have some restocking to do before you open?”

“Right, yeah. Sorry. I’m going.” He shook his head, snapping out of it and heading out the door. Clarke looked on after him, amused, when she noticed the professor eyeing him with suspicion as he left the shop.

Once Roan was out of sight, his eyes flitted back to Clarke, and he mouthed at her. _“Are you okay?”_

A reassuring smile crossed her features as she nodded to him, and she got back to serving customers. The hours passed, and though the professor was still hanging around, it was nearing closing time. Roan had even sent her a text letting her know he was in his bar setting up, but she hadn’t seen any more of yesterday’s customers. That was, at least, until the girl with the tattooed face came strolling through with the confidence of someone who knew exactly how hot she was.

“Hey.” Her voice was like velvet.

“Hi, what can I get you?” Clarke reached for a cup.

“You can get me a drink on our date tonight.”

Ah – so the potion hadn’t quite worn off yet. A sympathetic smile flashed across her face as she replied. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

The girl studied her, searching her apron for a nametag and finding none. “What’s your name?”

“Clarke.”

“Well, Clarke, I think you’re a good girl. I think you’ve never taken a risk – I think you’ve never been with someone that might be a little bad. But here’s the thing…” She leaned over the counter and whispered. “Sometimes being bad feels _really_ fucking good.” Back to her normal volume, she continued. “My name’s Emori. I’ll see you at the bar across the street at eight.”

Emori spun on her heels and sauntered out of the café without ordering, leaving Clarke standing open-mouthed with the empty cup still in her hand. This wasn’t quite the same style of flirting as the young couple from earlier had shown, and it had obviously affected Roan a different way too. It seemed like the consequences of the potion depended on the personality of whoever ingested it – the two shy students on their first date were less serious and more playful. Roan had been thinking about sex, because, well, he’s _Roan_, and Emori was a self-assured, effortlessly cool girl who knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to go after it. The one person she still couldn’t figure out was watching her thought process intently.

“You’re popular today.” His comment snapped her out of her contemplation, and she turned to face him as he got his wallet out and nodded to a gingerbread witch in the bakery stand. “That Halloween cookie is calling my name.”

Clarke looked at the beautifully decorated biscuits and smiled, thinking of her mother. Abby had let herself in to the café before opening and left them perfectly wrapped with a note wishing her a happy Halloween in perfect calligraphy. They’d been selling pretty well, and they tasted great too. “How come the cookie gets to know your name and I don’t?” She teased as she grabbed one for him.

He shrugged, with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Hey, the cookie and I have something special. You and I – we’re just not there yet.”

She laughed as she swapped the cookie for his cash and raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t you have somewhere fun to be tonight?” With a light wave to their surroundings, she went on. “I mean I know I’m great company, but it’s Halloween, and I’m almost ready to close. It’s totally dead in here.”

“I’d rather hang out here while I can.”

Clarke hummed. “Dodging trick-or-treaters?”

“Something like that.”

“Okay, but you might want to take that to go – I actually _am_ closing for the night.” She eyed the clock – ten minutes until close, and thanks to the time of year, it was already pitch black outside. To be honest, if it had been anyone else coming to the counter to order, she would have turned them away at this time.

His bottom lip jutted out as he considered her suggestion. “Good idea. Stay safe, okay? Lots of monsters out tonight.”

Clarke’s eyebrows shot up at his concern for her welfare – he actually sounded a little worried, and the way he searched her eyes looked like he was trying to send her an unspoken message that she couldn’t quite understand. “Sure. You too.”

Long after he had set of the soft ring of the bells on his way out, Clarke stared at the door in thought. It seemed like he was acting out of character. Sure, he had an argument with his sister, but to stay sitting in her café for hours afterwards, until closing time, without bringing any work with him? He looked like he’d been watching all of the interactions with her customers, including Roan and Emori’s outbursts. He’d definitely had a hefty dose of the love potion yesterday, and yet it didn’t seem to affect him at all. Did he have magic? Was he going to turn her in to the Grand Coven? He was obviously hiding _something_; he wouldn’t even give her his name.

Regardless, there was nothing she could do about it now – he was long gone. Instead, she finished her usual routine of switching off all the lights, locking up, and taking the trash out to the alleyway. Halloween celebrations never bothered her; in fact, human ideas of the supernatural often amused her. But something about tonight had the hairs on the back of her neck standing up as she dumped the bags into bin, her breath crystallising in the cold air. Something moved in the bushes behind her – a twig snapped – and she froze still, eyes searching the foliage for the source of the noise. The air around her seemed to solidify as the wind stopped whistling, all sounds of life grinding to a halt. An animal maybe? A bottle shattering made her start, until she heard the laughter and shouts of Roan’s patrons across the road – just some people having fun at the bar. Shaking off the feeling with a laugh, she prepared to round the corner to come out of the alley when a figure emerged from the shadows.

“There you are,” He pushed her back up against the rough brick wall. “I thought I’d never get you alone.”

She raised her hands to conjure a knockback jinx, but he caught her hands and pinned them to the wall, leaving her helpless. Clarke searched his face in the dim light – his dark hair fell in choppy waves to his chin, and his eyes held a crazed look, the likes of which Clarke had never seen before.

“I’m so glad that girl never showed up yesterday, it made me realise who I’m really meant to be with. It made me realise I was meant to be with you.”

Oh god, it was the guy that got stood up – the only one of yesterday’s customers that hadn’t shown their face yet. “Let go of me,” Clarke kept her voice remarkably calm considering the situation, not wanting to escalate it.

“God, I can’t stop thinking about you. I’ve been waiting for this moment all day.”

“Get off!” Firmer now, she tried to pull out of his grip. No dice; it was like a clamp on her wrists. To her horror, he leaned in and forced his lips onto hers, smothering her shout under a kiss. Instinctively, she kneed him in the crotch and pushed him back, wiping her mouth with her sleeve as she readied herself to cast a spell.

She needn’t have bothered.

Before she could so much as catch her breath, the boy had been knocked to the ground by a haze of black fur that sprang from the bushes, and a deadly snarl erupted from the beast on top of him. It wasn’t a dog – far too large; almost the size of a bear, but it was built like one… it was a wolf. It craned back its neck to howl, and the boy scampered away in fear while it was distracted. In the meantime, Clarke watched on in shock, staying still in the hopes that she wouldn’t draw attention to herself. The beast panted, heaving with each slowing breath, and eventually it turned to face her. It took an almost tentative step towards her and she jumped back – in response, it stopped and bowed its head a fraction in submission, allowing her to approach. A beat passed, and curiosity got the best of her. Cautiously, she stepped forwards, studying the wolf in more detail. Thick black fur lined its body, standing probably six feet tall if it wasn’t crouched. Its eyes were mostly averting her gaze, reassuring her it wasn’t a challenge, but in the fractions of seconds their eyes met, she could have sworn she’d seen that brown before. As she got closer, the wolf whined ever so slightly as if in pain. It backed off as it jerked in the most unnatural way – jaw twitching, head shaking, limbs jerking and bending – until it curled up into a ball and the fur disappeared, leaving behind a man with thick, messy curls on his head, turning to face her with an uneasy look.

Clarke knew she shouldn’t be shocked. She’s known about the supernatural as long as she’s lived; hell, she _is_ supernatural, but she’d never come across an actual, real-life _werewolf_ before, and her mind was refusing to accept it. She must be dreaming, or it was a Halloween costume, or Roan was playing a trick on her.

The man cleared his throat. “You don’t happen to have any clothes, do you?”

That voice. Clarke knew that voice. Suddenly not feeling so scared, she closed the distance between them, taking in his features. It was the professor. “You! You’re a… you’re…”

“Naked. Got any clothes?”

Only just realising his predicament, she gasped, and with a sharp quarter turn, she gave him some privacy as she threw him her apron, the only thing she had on her at the moment. Her mind raced as he fumbled with the fabric. Clarke had found herself in some pretty unusual situations before, but being saved by a wolf that transformed into a naked man she has a passing familiarity with might just take the cake. She desperately wanted to ease the tension in the air. With a breathy laugh, she asked the question that had been bugging her ever since their first meeting. “Now that I’ve seen you naked, do I at least get to know your name?”

A dry chuckle. “As soon as I get to know yours.”

Of course – her apron didn’t have a name tag. All this time, he didn’t know her name either. “Clarke Griffin.”

“Bellamy.” Now covered up, he paced towards her, offering his hand to shake. “Bellamy Blake.”


	3. No Charm Done

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's finally back! sorry it took so long, life has been incredibly hectic! i hope it was worth the wait <3

Bellamy shivered as the wind chill hit him, and Clarke winced. “Come on, let’s get you inside.” She exited the alley first, making sure the coast was clear before she ushered him in. Switching on the machines, she made her way behind the bar and set about making him a hot coffee before calling the only person who might be able to help get Bellamy some clothes before he became hypothermic.

Roan answered on the first ring, the lively hum of the bar clouding the background. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

Clarke hesitated. “You know that spare change of clothes you keep behind the bar in case Niylah pukes on you again?”

“Yeah?” He drew out the word - Clarke could practically see the way his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Bellamy’s voice calling from the front of the shop interrupted him. “Clarke, everything okay back there?”

“Bring it to the shop as soon as you can. Thanks.” Clarke hung up on Roan, calling her attention back to Bellamy. “Coming! Just making coffee.” Making one for herself as well, she brought two mugs out to the front of the shop and set them down on the couch next to the radiator, where Bellamy was perching awkwardly, obviously uncomfortable.

“Thank you.” He took the cup, taking a long sip of the brew. “Sorry about… this.” Bellamy gestured to himself apologetically.

“Don’t worry about it; you kinda saved me back there.” She gave him a small smile, attempting to put him at ease. After a moment of not quite comfortable silence, she spoke again. “So… werewolf, huh?”

Bellamy huffed a short laugh. “No, not a werewolf. Common mistake.” He must have noticed the way Clarke’s face scrunched in confusion, because he answered the question that was forming on her lips. “I’m kind of a hybrid – mixed race even in the supernatural sense. My mom was a werewolf, but my dad was an Aswang – a shapeshifter, native to the Philippines. So yeah, I shift into a wolf, but I have a little more control over it. I’m not bound by the moon; when I shift, it’s either by choice, or because of strong emotions.”

“Aswang…” Clarke tasted the word as she sipped her coffee. She’d never heard of one before, but then again, she never really learned anything about the mythology of other cultures. Now that she thought about it, there must be thousands of species of supernatural creatures all over the world, and not just on land, but in the oceans and skies too. The scale of the supernatural world never ceased to amaze her.

“And you’re a witch.”

Clarke snapped back to reality. “How did you know that?”

Bellamy chuckled lightly. “Your coffee shop is called _Crafted_. Talk about hiding in plain sight. Besides, no human makes coffee this good – and don’t think I didn’t see you spill that guy’s drink yesterday.”

She barely had enough time to process that before a harsh rap on the door interrupted her thoughts, causing Bellamy to jump. “Relax, it’s just my friend.” She unlocked the door for Roan, who looked wary, but had the clothes draped over his arm as promised. “Come in, you’ll freeze.” She ushered him inside, where he was faced with Bellamy.

“Whoa. Clarke, why is there a naked man wearing one of your aprons?”

Bellamy cleared his throat. “Hi. Bellamy Blake. I’m usually wearing more clothes.”

Roan eyed him cautiously, handing Clarke the clothes. “Another one of your victims, I assume. He give you any trouble?”

“Not exactly, no.” She tossed Bellamy the clothes, and he headed to the bathroom to change. Spinning back to face Roan, she continued. “He drank the biggest dose of it, and nothing. No effect at all. Turns out he’s not quite human.”

He paused. “And this explains his nakedness how?”

Clarke hesitated, struggling to find the right words. “He’s… kind of a shapeshifter. Had some trouble with a guy in the alley earlier, and he saved me. But as it happens, human-sized clothes tend to rip when their wearer transforms into a giant wolf.” 

A wry chuckle left her lips at the last sentence, and she almost didn’t catch Roan’s hackles raise at her final word. “A _wolf_? You let a wolf into our lives? Step outside, I’ll deal with this.” He gently pushed her aside with one arm as the other reached into his coat, the lights glinting against something metal in his pocket as the unmistakable sound of a weapon being unsheathed filled the room.

“No!” Something very primal inside her sprang into action at his words, and the strength of her conviction surprised even her. She gripped his arm, stopping him in his tracks. 

He shot her an incredulous look. “You know how I feel about the supernatural. He’s dangerous!”

“_I’m_ supernatural! So are you, if you recall!”

“That’s different – witches work with nature, they don’t hunt, and they don’t kill. Now step back, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“No one’s getting hurt.” Bellamy’s voice came out from behind Clarke, and she whipped around to face him. Roan’s clothes hung a little loosely on his frame, which might have made him look childish, but his stance was confident. Neither aggressive nor defensive, he held his chin high and palms out as he approached. “I know what you think I am, but it’s not true. I’m not a full wolf, and even if I was, I wouldn’t be a threat to you or to anyone in this town.”

Roan didn’t budge. “And why would I believe a word that comes out of your mouth?”

“Because I’ve been here for months – Clarke can vouch for that. In all that time, have you noticed anything unusual? Animal attacks, missing persons, unexplained bites or scratches on any humans?” A beat passed as that landed on Roan. He knew the answers to those questions. “Wolves are not what human mythology would have you believe. You should know that better than most; witches were persecuted for a long time by humans out of prejudice, or jealousy. They made up stories so evil they were forced into hiding for fear of their lives. Have you ever known Clarke to be cruel or vindictive?” Roan’s grip on the hilt loosened as Bellamy paced closer, lightly guiding Clarke out of the way so the two men were face to face. “All I’m asking is that you don’t judge me by what humans say we’ve done. Make up your own mind.”

“He saved me, Roan.” Clarke chipped in. Her instincts told her to protect him; to return the favour.

Reluctantly, Roan stepped back with a sigh. “How long have you known about Clarke?”

Bellamy’s eyes flitted to her briefly. She was keen to know the answer too. “I suspected for a while. But I wasn’t sure until today.”

“And what was your plan, exactly? To out her? To turn her?”

Clarke could feel the tension rising as Roan built himself up again, and she interjected. “Really? Can we please turn down the testosterone? We have bigger things to worry about right now.” For the first time in what felt like an age, both men’s eyes fell to her. “We need to figure out how to switch the damn potion off, or I might as well turn myself in to the Grand Coven now.”

The men eyed each other briefly, gauging the other’s priorities, before they both settled on tackling Clarke’s problem. Bellamy spoke first. “How long does it take to wear off?”

She shook her head in frustration, falling to the couch in a huff. “I honestly don’t know. If the potion was finished when it was ingested, it should only have lasted… maybe half a day, at most. Just an infatuation, a crush, meant for the short term. But it seems like it’s affected everyone differently, and it’s lasting longer than it should. And tonight of all nights, magic is even more powerful than usual. It might even be permanent.”

Silence fell as they absorbed that. Even Clarke hadn’t seriously thought about the potential for the potion’s effects to be present long-term, and the thought terrified her. Not just because the Grand Coven would have a field day with her, or that it would ruin her mother’s reputation as well, but because she would have disrupted so many human lives forever. Those people may never find love of their own, and it would be all her fault.

“Okay…” Bellamy thought out loud, steadying his voice. “Okay, run me through everything that happened from the day of the mix-up until now. Everyone that drank it, and every interaction you had with them since then.”

Clarke cleared her throat. “Alright, let me see…” she rubbed her temples as she cast her mind back to the incident. “Emori, the girl with the face tattoo, she was the first. Then the guy that got stood up, then you, Roan. Bellamy, you came in after that, but I served a couple on a date first – Monty and Harper. Then I gave you a massive dose – at your own request if I remember correctly – and that was it, I think.” Bellamy’s lip twitched into a smile as she teased him for the comment he’d made about caramel when he’d ordered. 

“That’s six people. Not so bad, considering two of them are right here.” Roan noted.

“It’s still six too many.” Clarke fired back. “I shut the shop after that, packed up in a hurry trying to find a solution in the books, but I came up empty. Monty and Harper were the first to find me the next day, but I don’t think they’re a problem.”

“Why not?” 

“Why’s that?” 

Bellamy and Roan’s questions overlapped.

Clarke shifted in her seat, dissecting the interaction for the first time. “Um, I convinced them to talk to each other instead of me. They had really hit it off on their date earlier, I thought if I could make them feel a real connection it would override a fake one from a potion.”

“And it worked?” Roan asked.

She recalled the changes in their demeanour after they talked to each other for a while, and the apologetic note they left for her. “Yeah, I think it did.” She watched as Bellamy and Roan met each other’s eyes, mirroring each other’s smiles. “Whoa, whoa, hang on. I can’t just track everyone down and make them fall in love with someone else! What kind of plan is that?”

“We’re not saying that-” Bellamy started.

“Well I don’t see any other options.” Roan cut in.

“No, Clarke’s right.” Bellamy challenged. “It’s impractical at the very least, and besides, I’m not letting her anywhere near that asshole from the alley again. There has to be some other way.” Roan conceded with a sigh of frustration before Bellamy continued. “Clarke, what’s the end goal of a love potion?”

She furrowed her brow. “Uh… it’s supposed to provide the potion maker a chance for the person they love to fall in love with them too. There are lots of different kinds – intense infatuation is a little cruel for my tastes; I was making a version that acts more like a social lubricant. Makes people more open to the idea of love but doesn’t force anything. The people are still free to choose what they want to do.”

“So the ideal outcome is for the creator or whoever drinks it to fall in love?”

Clarke nodded. “Yeah, that’s right.”

“And if we do that, the potion has done its job and there’s no reason for the effects to linger after it’s achieved its goal?”

“Right again.”

Roan interrupted. “Then we have to do one of those things.”

Clarke groaned and slumped back into the couch, willing it to swallow her up. She wasn’t going to find love in one night, that was for sure. Naturally, that left only one option – tracking down each of her victims and setting them up with someone else. After taking a moment to absorb that, she leaned forwards and looked at Roan. “Okay. Monty and Harper are already taken care of. I assume we don’t have to worry about you?”

“No more than usual.” He smirked.

She rolled her eyes. “Emori’s gonna be at your bar tonight, can you handle her? She’s the one with the face tattoo – you can’t miss her.” When he nodded in response, she continued. “Alright, that just leaves the guy from the alley. I guess I can-”

“No. No way.” Clarke’s head snapped towards Bellamy, whose knee was bouncing in apprehension – a physical manifestation of his protest to her plan. “You can’t track him down, it’s too dangerous. I know guys like him, and he’s bad news. I can smell it on him.”

“We don’t have much of a choice, Bellamy. I have to do this.” Clarke knew she had to be the one to fix the mess she made, and fast. Before the Grand Coven caught wind of it, and more importantly, before someone got hurt. There were bound to be repercussions for every person affected by the potion, and if Clarke had to potentially put herself in harm’s way to stop it, she would. A phrase echoed through the hollows of her mind like a mantra – _I bear it so they don’t have to._

He searched her eyes, finding steel in her conviction. His lips pressed into a line as he conceded. “Then you’re out of your mind if you think I’m letting you do this alone.”

A hint of a smile threatened at Clarke’s mouth. “Okay. I could use some company.” She gently knocked her knee into his as she teased him. “Besides, I’ve always been a dog person. Can’t turn away a stray.”

Bellamy chuckled, and Roan bristled a little. “I need to get back to the bar. I’ll keep you updated on Emori; let me know how you two are getting on.” He stood and started for the door, and Clarke and Bellamy rose too. Halfway to the exit, he turned. “And Bellamy… look after her.” At his certain, steady nod, Roan eyed him carefully. “You must really like her coffee.”

Bellamy tensed for a moment but let himself settle as Roan set off the soft chime of the bells on his way out of the shop. Roan’s suspicion hung thick in the air as they watched the door, as if waiting for his return. “I don’t think he likes me very much.”

Clarke hummed. “Don’t take it personally, he doesn’t really like anyone.”

“Seems to like you.”

“Who wouldn’t?” She gestured to herself with a grin, but her face fell flat as she remembered it was people liking her a little too much that was causing their problems. Back to business, she wanted to figure out a game plan. “How do we track down the guy from the alley?”

He thought for a moment, lips pursed. “We may not have to. He’ll probably come back to find you.”

Clarke shuddered at the thought, rubbing her arms to dispel the goosebumps. The idea that he could be somewhere out there in the dark streets looking into the shop made her want to board up the windows and doors until it all blew over. “I don’t want to lead him back to my house.”

“Hey.” He had approached so silently that his hand on her shoulder should have made her jump, but perhaps against her better judgement she leaned into it, finding calm in his touch. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

His words were like silk, wrapping her up comfortably, and she could tell from his tone that he meant it. Everything inside her was telling her to believe him, but Roan had sown a seed of distrust inside her that was starting to take root. She turned to face him, his hand falling off her shoulder as she moved. Until tonight, despite all their talks, they were still relative strangers. They’d only just learned each other’s names, but here he was, ready to walk into fire for her. She asked the question that had been niggling at the back of her head. “Why?”

Clarke thought she saw his expression falter for a second, a flicker of something cross his face, but before he could answer, her phone chimed, deafening now in the silence between them. Checking her phone, she saw a text from Roan.

_Roan: Emori just arrived, I’m keeping an eye on her. And Clarke – be careful. He’s hiding something._

For the first time tonight, Clarke thought that Roan might be right.


	4. Hexception to the Rule

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it only took me a month of lockdown (im sorry) but I've finally got another chapter written! I hope you enjoy it and I hope you're all keeping safe and sane in these weird times <3

With the potential for a long, restless night holed up in the café ahead of her, Clarke decided the best thing to do to ease her suspicions about Bellamy was to get to know him better. “We might be here a while. You hungry?”

“Like a wolf,” Bellamy replied, falling back into his usual easy smile with a gleam in his eyes. “What have you got?”

Clarke’s lip gave a half-hearted twitch at the joke, before scrunching as she thought. “Mostly sweet things, to be honest. I run a café, it’s Halloween, you get the picture.”

“Hmm.” He considered her response, scratching his head and shrugging his shoulders in an exaggerated way. “If only you could whip something up by… I don’t know… magic?”

She laughed like a sprite; short and sweet. “Would if I could, but I can’t make something out of nothing. One of the things Harry Potter got right.” It wasn’t for lack of trying on Clarke’s part. Too many times as a child, she had concentrated her energy on creating some chocolate to snack on away from her mother’s prying eyes, but no joy. Abby had been impressed by her determination, but soon taught her the rules. As for Harry Potter, she watched it with the same scepticism she imagined detectives had watching a police procedural. But on the whole, she was pleasantly surprised. Sure, there were a healthy amount of inaccuracies, but it ruffled enough feathers for the Grand Coven to verify J.K. Rowling wasn’t a witch. Of course, it would have been a stupid risk to take if she was, but a lot of the higher-ups weren’t pleased regardless. Anything in popular culture that referenced witches put them under a microscope, and created the potential for them to be discovered. A lot of the backlash and book burning back in the day was actually encouraged by some of the more concerned members of Clarke’s kind.

“Oh my god.” Bellamy looked like he’d had some sort of epiphany. “I can’t believe I’ve never thought of that until now. What else did they get right? What did they get wrong? Can you apparate? Can you really split your soul into pieces? Is it true you can–”

“Hold up,” She raised her hand to stop him, a grin bubbling away at her chin. “That’s a conversation for another night. As for food, I can multiply what I already have, or summon it if it’s nearby, but I need something physical to work with.”

He thought for a moment. “So you could summon food from the grocery store across the street?”

She lightly slapped his arm, scolding him. “No stealing. I’ll do you one better.” As she vanished around a corner behind the counter, she heard him call after her.

“Better than summoning food? And I don’t get to see it? Ah – I get it. A magician never reveals her tricks, right?”

Clarke scoffed as she rifled through the mail in a drawer. _Magicians._ A few years back, a guy had tried to use a magic trick to impress her. It was probably a bad idea to risk exposure, but she couldn’t help messing with his trick so that he revealed the wrong card. Smirking at the memory, she continued her search. She knew the thing was around here somewhere… A-ha!

Triumphant, she brought the flyer back with her and tossed it his way with an amber flash of her eyes and her arm still outstretched; palm out, fingers wide. The flyer paused in mid-air and unfolded itself a comfortable reading distance away from Bellamy’s face. “Yeah, we’re summoning food. It’s crazy – call that number, tell them what you want, and pizza just appears at your door! Magic!”

He batted the menu away and raised an eyebrow at her. “Ha ha.” A beat, and he grabbed the menu again. “What’s your poison?”

She let the spell down and huffed out a breath. “Okay, don’t judge me on this one. Ham and pineapple.”

Bellamy’s eyes never left the page. “Cool, me too.” Phone in hand, he started dialling.

Biting back the retort she had ready just in case, she stepped back. “Really? Usually I have to argue with someone about whether or not fruit belongs on a pizza, which it obviously does because–”

“Tomatoes are fruit. I know.” He shot her a smile as he put the phone to his ear. “Have the same argument with my sister all the time.”

She studied him as he ordered, watching the way he paced when he talked. He looked at home here, like he’d been here all his life. Even in Roan’s clothes, which should have swallowed him whole, he looked like he was meant to be there. Calm, relaxed, confident. It stirred an emotion in Clarke that she didn’t quite recognise, but it felt warm; certain. And a little bit terrifying. When he fell onto the couch as he hung up, she shook the feeling out of her body and plastered on a casual face. “Garlic bread?”

“Obviously – I’m not a monster.” A cheeky grin worked its way into his features as if he’d only just remembered how he ended up in his current outfit. “Well, most of the time at least.”

“Are you close with your sister?” She sat with him.

“Half-sister, technically, but yeah,” Bellamy almost sounded surprised at his own answer. “I mean, she’s impulsive, reckless, rebellious, and half the time I feel like her parent, but… she’s the most loyal person I know. Even when she’s doing something stupid, I know it’s coming from a good place. Just don’t tell her I said something nice about her, she’ll never let me live it down.”

Clarke had often wondered what it would be like to have a sibling. When she was young, she’d always wanted someone she could play with; someone to keep her company on the days her parents had to work late. She had friends, of course, but it wasn’t the same. At the end of the day they would go home to their own families and sleep in their own beds, playing with their own siblings. Everyone had been transient, treating Arkadia like a pit stop on their grand life journey, and always, sooner or later, leaving Clarke in the dust. Even the students coming through her coffee shop left after a few years, and someone she considered a regular would up and leave without warning. More than once, she had prepared a hazelnut latte or a double-shot cappuccino in advance, only to find out they’d moved on. Not that she expected them to give her two weeks’ notice; no one tells the barista when they’re moving out of town, but it always brought back that feeling. Roan had been a blessing. He was the most steady friend she’d ever had, and she imagined he was as close to family as a friend could get.

“Are you close with your family?” His question snapped her out of her thoughts.

“It’s just me and my mom. She’s the one you can thank for the cookies – she dropped them off this morning.”

“Oh, they were so good.” He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, relishing the memory. “I’m gonna need that recipe from her, I’m pretty good at baking myself.”

Clarke chuckled at his response, thankful that he didn’t pry about her father. Judging by his relationship to Octavia, she figured he knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of personal questions when you don’t want to share the answers. “Those cookies in particular need a witch’s touch, I’m afraid.”

“Damn, knew it was too good to be true.” A beat, then a lightbulb moment as he snapped his fingers. “You could make them with me some day after all this is over.”

His determination to make the cookies tickled her. “It’s a date.” The words fell out of her mouth so easily that the implication hadn’t crossed her mind, until she felt a rush of heat in her cheeks. She turned away from him to hide her face, and couldn’t see his reaction.

The pause couldn’t have been more than a few seconds long, but it felt like an eternity to Clarke as she waited for the redness to ease, desperate to see if she had offended him. When he spoke, mercifully, he sounded unfazed. “Kind of feels like we’re already on one.”

Hand cupping her chin, she turned back to study him. He opened his mouth to continue, but a knock on the door startled her. Bellamy stood, casting a hand in her direction to tell her to stay put while he checked it out. He peered cautiously through the blinds before throwing her an easy grin. “Pizza.”

Clarke immediately relaxed her posture. She wasn’t sure when she had brought her knees up to her chest, but she sank back into a comfortable position as he laid the spread over the table in front of her. Her stomach made an ungodly noise when she caught a whiff of the pizza, and Bellamy chuckled, taking a slice for himself. Clarke did the same, watching as he ate. “What did you mean before?”

“Hm?”

“You said it felt like we were already on one.”

“Oh,” He cleared his throat. “You know, two people sitting in a coffee shop, eating food, talking about themselves. Sounds like a date to me.” He took another bite. “That being said, this isn’t how I pictured our first date.”

She raised her eyebrows as she ate. “You’ve pictured our first date?”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t.” That damned smirk again.

He drew the smile out of her like an ache. “Alright, I’ll bite. What did you have in mind?” As much as it pained her to admit, she didn’t hate the image he put in her head.

“Drive-in movie.”

She pulled a face, deflated. “Drive-in movie? That’s your big first date idea to sweep me off my feet?”

“Hey,” He playfully threw a napkin at her. “I haven’t finished explaining.”

“My apologies,” She laughed, sending the napkin into a bin with a neat flick of her finger before lying flat on her back on the couch. “By all means, continue.”

“Arkadia’s an old town – you know that. And I’m sure you know there are old stone castle and church ruins around the area.” When Clarke nodded in confirmation, he continued. “Okay, there’s a small strip of land by the coast, on a cliff overlooking the beach. Not much of the monastery is left, which means there’s this big open space with an incredible view, and a few ivy-covered structures for atmosphere. Every summer, or when the weather’s good enough and the nights are warm, they hold a drive-in movie night there to raise money for the upkeep. Started out small, but as it became more popular, they put a little more effort into it. Fairy lights, local food trucks, drinks… you name it, it’s there. So when I say a drive-in movie, I mean you, me, and a pile of blankets in the back of my pickup truck, smell of popcorn in the air, a glass of wine, watching the sun set over the horizon until we’re under the stars, finishing off the night with a bonfire down on the beach. How does that sound?”

Clarke was so transfixed she had stopped mid-chew. Still stuck in a daze, allowing herself to imagine the date, she didn’t notice until too late that a hot dollop of mozzarella was falling straight onto the exposed part of her chest. “_Shit_,” she hissed, sitting bolt upright as she summoned a napkin to blot herself. If she wasn’t blushing already, she sure as hell was now. The heat rose to her cheeks like smoke from a fire, and she tried to compose herself. “Yeah, that sounds… that sounds good.” The look on Bellamy’s face told her he wasn’t convinced of her nonchalance, and she cursed herself internally for being so moved. Maybe the damn potion was affecting her too. Thankfully, he didn’t tease her, simply quirking an eyebrow before returning to his food.

The casual mood settled back in as they continued small talk, but Clarke’s thoughts kept drifting back to Bellamy. Clearly he had suspected what she was for a while now; he admitted as much, and she wondered what her life would be like now if he had mentioned something sooner. If he had asked her on a date, she might even have said yes – and maybe he would have taken her to the drive-in. “Why didn’t you tell me what you are?” The words came out almost without her permission.

Surprise flickered across his features. Caught off guard, he gave perhaps the most honest answer he had given her all night. “I guess I didn’t want to scare you away.”

A half-smile tugged her lip as she remembered a line from a book. “Immortals are never alien to one another.”

“Did you just quote _The Odyssey _at me?” Bellamy’s tone was almost incredulous, but there was no hiding the smile on his face.

She shrugged. “Gotta keep the history buff on his toes.”

“Careful, or I might just fall in love with you.”

“Mmm, there’s a lot of that going around,” Clarke teased. “Might have to get in line.”

Whatever witty comeback Bellamy had prepared was cut off by Clarke’s phone ringing, Roan’s name flashing on the screen. She placed the phone to her ear. “What’s going on?”

“That girl’s here – the one with the face tattoo.”

“What’s she doing?”

Roan paused. “I don’t think she’s gonna be a problem.”

“Why?” She drew out the word.

“She’s, um… seems like she’s got a thing for my bartender now.”

Clarke giggled. “Who, Murphy? I bet he’s not complaining.”

“Oh, no, if anything he’s enjoying it too much – _hey!_” The sound became muffled as Roan moved, probably putting the phone aside for a moment. “_I told you, you’re still on the clock. You can stick your tongue down her throat after your shift_.”

“Roan? You still there?”

More ruffling sounds. “Yeah, sorry. Little prick.”

“Sounds like you’ve got your hands full.”

“Understatement of the century. Hey, good news though – haven’t thought about screwing you for a while. Actually, it feels kind of gross now.”

“…Thanks?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake – Murphy! What did I just say!” He shouted. “Sorry Clarke, I have to handle this. Keep safe, okay?”

The line went dead, and Clarke looked to Bellamy, who was waiting to be filled in. “Roan found Emori, she’s not our problem anymore.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What, is she someone else’s problem now?”

“Seems that way.” She confirmed. “Roan was also delighted to inform me that he hasn’t thought about sleeping with me for some time now.”

Bellamy bit back a laugh. “Glad to hear it.”

Before silence could settle, a spit burst through from the fireplace across the room. Clarke had always been proud of the home-like feel of her café, so customers could feel as if they were relaxing in her front room, visiting a friend. She thought it brought a certain atmosphere to the place that you wouldn’t find in a chain, and she loved the red brick in contrast to the wood furnishings and green of the plants. One of the distinguishing features of this particular fireplace, however, was that it was fake. She had never had it lit.

As she raced to kneel by the fireplace, where the sputtering was intensifying, Bellamy recognised something was wrong. “What is it?”

“I think it’s my mom.” She saw his confused expression and elaborated. “The fireplace isn’t a fireplace. It’s sort of… an emergency line. A way for us to talk to each other privately.”

“She can’t call?”

Clarke shook her head. “Phone calls can be traced; they leave records. Not this.” As she spoke, enchanted flames burned reds and oranges in front of her, and in the flickers and shadows, the features of Abby’s face could be made out. “Mom?”

“Clarke,” Her mother’s voice came through.

Bellamy audibly gasped, pointing to the fire. He mouthed to Clarke. “_Just like Harry Potter._”

She put a hand up to stop him, keeping her eyes on the fire. “What’s happening?”

“Does the name Finn Collins mean anything to you?” She replied.

Clarke searched her brain, coming up empty. “No, should it?”

“He’s a human, spotted on the streets about an hour ago by a member of the Grand Coven. He was clearly under the influence of some magic, so they ran some tests…” Clarke’s eyes flitted to Bellamy as she continued. “They found a love potion in his system, and they’ve traced it back to you. Clarke, I could lose my position or worse for telling you this, but I had to warn you – they’re coming. The Grand Coven is coming for you.”


End file.
